


City without Hope

by Yukichouji



Category: Gotham (TV)
Genre: Lots of Hurt, M/M, Sorry but not really, The scene at the shipyard from 2 x 10 with a twist, Theo taking advantage, Very graphic, gangbang-elements, no comfort
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-11
Updated: 2017-03-11
Packaged: 2018-10-02 15:57:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,803
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10221974
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Yukichouji/pseuds/Yukichouji
Summary: Theo is in the process of leaving, moving on to grander things – there are places to be, sacrifices to be made and all that – but he cannot help but throw one more glance over his shoulder. Detective James Gordon is a sight to behold, strung up and grim, so out of place in the damp, grimy twilight of the docks with his immaculate suit and perfect hair ever-so-slightly disheveled.





	

**Author's Note:**

> First of all a huge 'thank you' to khaleesian, wo did the beta on this even though she hasn't seen the show (yet). You're the best!  
> To anyone else planning to read this little bit of madness, please heed the warnings and be safe. <3

Theo is in the process of leaving, moving on to grander things – there are places to be, sacrifices to be made and all that – but he cannot help but throw one more glance over his shoulder. Detective James Gordon is a sight to behold, strung up and grim, so out of place in the damp, grimy twilight of the docks with his immaculate suit and perfect hair ever-so-slightly disheveled. 

There’s a fire burning in Gordon's eyes, bright and dangerous and oh, it makes Theo want to lick his fingers and snuff it out like he would the wick of a candle. Detective Gordon is one of those men, who walk about in the midst of the deepest, darkest filth, spewing light and self-righteousness in exaggerated abandon. 

A grin tugs at the corner of Theo's mouth, the heavy, bitter smell of polluted water and motor-oil slowly seeping into the thick weave of his coat. Everything has been falling into place so perfectly, his plan playing out just the way he’d intended with Jim Gordon the only hitch worth mentioning. But Theo is a free man again and now James Gordon is right here in front of him, wrists tightly secured above his head and at the mercy of Theo’s whim, tense and taut and practically vibrating with impotent rage.

Theo would have expected this moment to be satisfying but something is still niggling at him, the sight of Gordon bound and helpless makes the inside of Theo's mouth itch, makes him lick the tips of his teeth. Something's missing, some opportunity is going begging. Gordon smells of starched shirt and honest sweat and the scent makes Theo rub his thumb over each of his fingernails compulsively. Standing in front of Gordon, inhaling his scent makes Theo feel...sharp. 

Besides, Theo is reasonably sure that he has earned the right to enjoy himself a bit, after all that hard work. Even with his connections, Blackgate hadn’t exactly been the Ritz, so for that at the very least he still owes Gordon.

“Ah, what the hell? I’ve a few minutes!” He declares and turns back around with a flourish, crossing the distance between himself and the detective in a brisk stride, always one to make a show out of things. “Lets have a little fun, shall we?”

Gordon’s eyes follow him guardedly as Theo walks a measured, appreciative circle around the Detective, taking a moment to note the way his suit underlines his lithe, powerful figure, how it sets off strong shoulders and hugs tight the subtle swell of his ass. The silky blue of Gordon’s tie brings out the stunning color of the man’s eyes quite nicely. 

Theo wonders if Gordon dressed himself, or if someone with a better eye for aesthetic picked out this particular suit for him. Whoever it was, they knew what they were doing. Gordon looks crisp and formidable and Theo just can’t resist the temptation of stepping forward and running a hand through Gordon’s hair, messing it up deliberately, just to see a crack form in that perfectly put together veneer.

“Don’t touch me.” Gordon bites out and shakes off Theo’s hand harshly. 

“Oh, come, James.” Theo says, mock scolding and leans in close, the tip of his nose just inches away from Gordon’s. “I think it should be obvious that you’re not really in a postition to issue demands.” Just to drive home the point Theo reaches out and drags his fingers through Gordon’s hair again, relishes the softness and the give, before he pulls his hand away.

Gordon frowns at him and tilts his head away from Theo’s uncomfortable closeness. “What the hell do you want?” He grits out, bewildered and Theo can’t help the chuckle that dances through his chest and up his throat and unfurls into the air between them like a moth that seeks the flame. 

Theo takes another step forward, quick as a heartbeat, and yanks Gordon’s head back by his hair as he presses their bodies flush together – relishes the startled little yelp Gordon makes. The heat of Gordon's skin seeps through layers of cloth, taunting Theo, pulling him in closer still. Gordon freezes at the contact, but Theo isn’t fooled for a second. He knows what this man is capable of, knows he’s playing with fire and he’s already been burnt once.

“I think you know exactly what I want, Detective.” Theo breathes against the elegant arch of Gordon’s neck and watches him shiver. He smells clean and sharp, like skin-warm cotton and gun oil and his aftershave with just a hint of sweat underneath and Theo drinks it in greedily. “I’ve been wanting to get my hands on you from the moment you walked up to me and threatened to put me behind bars.”

“Let go of me.” Gordon presses out, intones each word carefully, voice low and heavy with the underlying threat. There’s something wild and dangerous in this man and Theo shudders with glee, pushes a thigh in between Gordon’s and drags it along the man’s crotch lazily, only to hear him hiss in a startled breath.

“As you wish.” Theo breathes against the base of Gordon’s neck, where his skin disappears beneath the stiff jut of his collar and steps back. He shudders as the cool night air rushes in to leach away the warmth of Gordon’s body, feels the loss of it sharply.

The detective doesn’t look so in control anymore, now, Theo muses as he takes in the strands of dirty blond that fall messily across Gordon’s forehead, the quickened rise and fall of his chest where his tie lies askew and the angry flush that creeps up the back of his neck. The hint of uncertainty in the wide, impossible blue of his eyes. It’s very satisfying to see him like this, but it’s not enough, Theo still finds himself wanting.

Theo rounds the metal beams teasingly slow, brushing the tips of his fingers along the Detective’s side and watching him flinch, and steps in close behind. He slides his hands across the smooth fabric of Gordon’s dress shirt, catalogs the soft, barely-there bumps of his ribs, the heat of his skin, fingers along the line of buttons, across Gordon’s stomach and to his hip to guide him back. 

The body in his arms turns rigid as iron as muscles coil under his touch and Gordon gasps softly when Theo presses up along his back from thighs to shoulders. Gordon isn’t the only one with a bit of danger in him, Theo has spent his entire life training to become the dagger that pierces the heart of Gotham’s corruption and he knows where to apply pressure in order to break skin easily.

Theo drags his lips along the shell of Gordon’s ear slowly, relishing the soft skin and hint of salt, and enjoys the shudder that runs through Gordon. “Do you know, Detective, men like you have a tendency to bring out the worst in others. You just don’t know when to quit. Maybe I can help you with that, hm?”

Gordon snaps at that, coiled muscles bursting into action with an angry snarl. Gordon bucks and strains and Theo relishes the raw, primal strength of a man who’s been hardened and made sharp-edged by the cruelty of having survived one war only to come home and find another raging on his doorstep, dangerous in a way that makes Theo want to laugh with excitement.

Standing strong and holding Detective Gordon down and close, feeling his own muscles burn with the effort of containing him, sends sharp thrills down Theo’s spine and he tightens his grip and urges Gordon on until the detective has used up his strength and the fight slowly bleeds out of him, body finally going still in Theo’s arms. 

Gordon’s labored breathing is harsh and loud in the quiet of the deep, dark shadows of this place and Theo can’t help the elated chuckle that escapes him, a bit out of breath himself. He feels powerful and in control in a way he hasn’t for far too long, no matter how much he tries to pretend otherwise.

“How does it feel, Detective?” Theo asks low, intent on driving home the point as his hands move down to fumble open Gordon’s belt, suddenly clumsy in his eagerness to lay this man bare before him, to strip away each and every one of his defensive layers.

Theo slips the belt from its loops roughly, jostling Gordon about, and lets it glide to the ground with a soft clatter. Gordon’s badge is louder when it hits the wet concrete and it skids away past the edges of the light and into the swallowing darkness beyond. Paying it no heed, Theo slides his palms to Gordon’s heaving sides so that he can tug the tails of Gordon’s crisp white shirt out of his trousers.

“Are you afraid?”

Theo grinds his hips into Gordon’s ass crudely, so that Gordon can feel the hot line of Theo’s growing hardness and Gordon grunts and jerks against his ties. 

“You’re sick, Galavan. You need help.” Gordon grinds out through clenched teeth, trying to sound angry rather than scared but Theo can hear the hitch in his voice, can feel it vibrate through his chest where it is pressed flush against Gordon’s back. 

“Be nice now, Detective.” He taunts and slips his hand beneath the hem of Gordon’s shirt to splay his fingers across soft skin and is met with delightful heat that burns into his palm. “We have an audience, after all.”

Theo tips Gordon’s head to the side and nips at the bared stretch of the man’s neck as he glances toward the two cops across from them. They’re keeping a respectful distance – Theo is paying them more than they’ll make in a year of honest labor, after all – but he can see the interest in the dark pools of their eyes and the thin lines of their mouths. It seems very much like these men have no love for the good Detective.

Gordon must have seen the same because he screws his eyes shut and curses under his breath. Theo tsks at him softly. “No need to be so rude, don’t you think?”

“Go to hell, Galavan.” Gordon spits and Theo has to admire the man’s gall, if nothing else. It only makes it that much more worthwhile.

“The name is Dumas.” Theo corrects him teasingly and pops the button on Gordon’s fly, pulls down the zipper, fingers brushing the soft length of Gordon’s cock through layers of fabric and Gordon tries to jerk away from his touch but only succeeds in pressing them closer together.

Theo rolls his hips forward again and the breathless sound Gordon makes at that is just lovely. It sends an electric thrill down Theo’s spine, a charge that blooms deep in his gut. He slips his hand beneath the waistband of Gordon’s boxers, his pulse a dizzying staccato that urges him on, and cups the delicate flesh beneath, draws it out into the open.

Gordon sucks in a sharp breath and tugs his wrists against their ties helplessly. Mouthing along the taut line of Gordon’s jaw Theo sets a quick rhythm, stroking expertly, and despite Gordon’s unwillingness he slowly begins to fill and harden in Theo’s grasp.

“Don’t.” Gordon gasps out and it’s so soft and involuntary that Theo almost misses it over the sound of his own harsh breathing. He grins and nips the soft lobe of Gordon’s ear playfully. 

“Now, now, Detective. What fun would it be if I were the only one to get something out of this? No-one has ever accused me of being an inconsiderate lover.”

The slide is a little too dry, a little too rough, but Theo loves the sound Gordon makes whenever skin catches and drags and it doesn’t take long until Gordon is shaking in his arms, panting helplessly. 

Theo lets go of the heated flesh in his hand and it juts into the air all on its own, leaking at the tip and flushed dark with shame. The clothes on Theo feel too tight, too rough and his skin itches with the need to move this along. 

“Neither of you two gentlemen happens to have a bit of slick on you, eh?” He asks the two cops, who’ve gathered closer, drawn in by the display, pupils large and dark in hard eyes. To Theo’s endless amusement one of them actually reaches into a pocket of his uniform jacket and pulls out a small bottle of hand creme. The man looks a little breathless as he sidles over to give it to Theo. 

“Bless your dry hands, mate.” Theo says and takes the bottle from him with a giddy grin. A little heavy-handed with anticipation he hooks his thumbs into the waistband of Gordon’s trousers and underwear and tugs them down around his thighs. He makes a bit of a show out of it, lets the two cops get a nice eyeful as Theo runs a hand along Gordon’s perfect ass and up his side, bunching up his shirt and jacket and baring more skin to the chill of the night air. 

Gordon shivers and hisses, his hands clutching at the cold metal beam desperately.

Theo fumbles with his own belt and fly, clumsy with impatience now as he finally draws out his aching cock. The damp air is cold against his heated flesh and he sucks in a sharp breath at the delightful shock of it. He lets go of Gordon for a moment, so that he can squeeze a generous glob of lotion onto his palm and spread it across the hard length of his cock.

“You’re going to love this, James.” Theo breathes against the back of Gordon’s neck and braces an arm low across the detective’s stomach to pull him close again. He kicks at Gordon’s ankles, spreads the man’s legs as wide as they will go with his pants down around his thighs and thrills at the way Gordon’s mouth drops open on a strangled groan when Theo drags the length of his dick in between his cheeks. 

Theo guides the tip of his cock to the soft coil of muscle he finds there. He’s flushed and leaking with anticipation, mirroring the hot flare of want low in his belly, the fever that spreads through his blood, and he pushes forward, tests the stubborn resistance of Gordon’s body. Then pushes harder, eased along by the slippery glide of the lotion and ever so slowly, he makes Gordon open up to him.

Gordon gasps and chokes, helpless little moans as he trembles with the strain of fighting Theo’s forceful intrusion. It’s hot and slick and impossibly tight and Theo imagines what it must feel like for Gordon, the intimate stretch and burn as Theo shoves himself deeper, inch by excruciating inch until he’s buried to the hilt, flush against Gordon’s heaving back. 

Theo moves the hand he’d been guiding himself with back around to Gordon’s flagging erection and fists it tightly before he starts to move his hips. He makes his thrusts slow and deep, enjoys the hopeless fight Gordon’s reluctant body puts up every time Theo pushes back in, the satisfying burn in the muscles of his thighs and back as he breaks this man open again and again. 

Gordon’s moans and curses spur Theo on, drive his relentless, persistent rhythm. He moves his hand in time with his hips, jerking Gordon off, the slide made easy by excess lotion. It’s too slow, not enough, but Gordon flinches and grunts every time Theo brushes across that little bundle of nerves inside of him, tight heat clenching around him and Theo pushes on, drags it out with the sting of sweat at the corners of his eyes.

He licks wet stripes across the erratic flutter of Gordon’s pulse, tastes salt on feverish skin mingled with the bitter hint of aftershave and whispers strings of filth into Gordon’s red-tipped ear. “Just look at you. You’re such a sight, darling. Doing so well. God, the way you feel.Come on, come for me, James. Show us just how much you like being fucked. You were made for this, weren’t you?”

Gordon pants and strains, sweat soaking dark blotches into the fabric of his shirt and making it cling to his overheated skin. Theo works him relentlessly, winding him up until there’s nothing he can do but comply. With a strangled cry, that sounds like nothing but defeat to Theo’s ears Gordon’s whole body shudders and bucks as he pulses in Theo’s fist, paints sticky stripes across the front of his trousers. 

The milky, glistening white on the dusky gray fabric looks like a fragment of an expressionist painting. 

“Cut him loose.” Theo grunts, breathing hard and doing all he can to not let himself be dragged over the edge by the helpless convulsions of Gordon’s muscles around his dick. 

One of the men walks forward and cuts the plastic zip-ties that hold Gordon’s wrists in place and Gordon sags in Theo’s arms. Theo catches him and guides him down onto his knees, pushes Gordon forward until he’s leaning on his elbows, arms shaking as he struggles for breath. 

Theo shifts his grip to Gordon’s hips to hold the man in place as he starts to thrust in earnest, his need fueled by the thick, heavy scents of sweat and sex and Gordon’s glorious defeat. Gordon’s body rocks forward with every snap of Theo’s hips and the detective reaches back a shaking hand to push at Theo, perhaps, but it ends up clutching at the fabric of Theo’s shirt instead, holding on like a drowning man to a lifeline.

Gordon has his forehead pressed into the crook of his elbow, mouth slack and wet as obscene little sounds tumble from it, his bottom lip red and swollen where his teeth have bitten into it too hard, his perfect hair a perfect, sweat-damp mess and this is it. This is everything Theo has wanted from the moment Gordon had the gall to utter that first threat to Theo’s face. 

His hips snap forward harshly, once, twice, drawing pained grunts from Gordon, and then he’s coming, an exquisite, all-consuming rush of white-hot pleasure. Theo grins as he shudders through his release and carefully pulls free of Gordon’s trembling form. When he lets go of Gordon’s hips, the Detective slumps forward, unable to hold himself up on his own. 

Theo takes a moment to catch his breath and enjoy the fading rush of endorphins in his system, before he tucks his flaccid cock back into his trousers, mindful of oversensitive flesh, and laughs softly into the almost-quiet of the shadowed shipyard. What a sight Gordon is now, clothes stained and askew, head bowed, heavy with shame, and come trickling down his thighs. Finger-shaped bruises bloom lazily along the exposed stretch of his hips.

Theo drinks it in and burns it into his memory, a scorch mark on the winding pathways of his mind, that will keep him warm and satisfied for a long while.

Getting to his feet and smoothing his suit Theo notices the looks of the two cops and snickers, amused. “I’m sorry, gentlemen. Here I am indulging myself and I didn’t offer you anything. Be my guest, if you’d like to have a go at the good Detective. I don’t imagine he’ll put up much of a fight.” Theo says lightly and sweeps out his arm in the mockery of a grand invitation. 

One of the men tenses up and goes pale, shaking his head no, but the other steps forward and mirrors Theo’s grin. “Please.” Theo encourages. “I’ll even hold him down for you.”

“Sure, boss.” The man leers and lumbers forward like a graceless animal.

These cops, who carry the filth on their sleeves with pride, who were so willing to betray one of their own for a handful of cash and the promise of more. They’re a part of the tumor that’s growing within the guts of this city, rotting away at its soft underbelly and when the time comes to cut them away and crush them under the soles of his shoes, Theo will relish every moment of it.

Here and now, though, they are nothing more but a device of his will and he will use them in whichever way pleases him. Even be it the simple act of prolonging his own amusement. 

A glance at his watch assures him that he has the time, indeed. “I’m sorry, James, but it looks like we’re not quite through with you after all. You must not be very popular among your dear colleagues. Or rather, perhaps too popular.” 

Theo bends down to drag the Detective further out into the open but before he can take hold of the man’s arms, Gordon’s fist shoots up to meet him and hits him square across the jaw. The aim’s a little off, though and there’s not as much force behind the blow as could be so all it does is sting and Theo chuckles under his breath as he works his jaw to ease the sudden ache. He’s sure the new bruise will go along nicely with the one already blossomed along his cheekbone. 

“So there’s some fight left in you, after all, eh?” he murmurs and snags Gordon’s wrists, fingers closing around the deep-red marks that the plastic ties have cut into soft skin and Gordon winces and gasps at the touch. Theo pulls him across the cold, dirty floor of the warehouse into the center of the light. There, Theo drops down to the concrete at Gordon’s head, bends forward to lean his forearm across both of Gordon's, puts his weight into it until he can feel fragile bones grind together. Drops a heavy palm onto Gordon’s chest just above the frantic flutter of his heartbeat.

Like this Theo is almost nose to nose with the detective and he can feel the hot puff of the man’s breath ghost across his skin, catalog every expression that flickers over Gordon’s face.

Right now, what he sees is a crumbling facade of desperate anger and the wide-eyed fear underneath. Jim strains against Theo’s hold as heavy boots walk towards them and then fall quiet at Theo’s side. There’s the rustle of clothing, the clink of a belt buckle. 

Gordon grunts and twists and Theo looks up to see what the cop is doing. The man is in the process of pulling one of Jim’s shoes off and then tugging his pants down all the way and off that leg, kneeling on Jim’s other ankle to avoid being kicked in the head. Wise choice, Theo muses. Then the man hooks Gordon’s knee over one shoulder and leans in, his face a featureless blotch of darkness painted onto him by the bright light at his back.

Theo shifts his attention back to Gordon. The detective’s strong jaw is clenched so hard Theo can see the sharp outlines of straining muscles beneath the tender skin. 

“You’re going down for this. I’m going to make you pay for everything you did.” Gordon grits out and there’s so much venom in his voice it makes a delightful little shiver tingle down Theo’s spine, like the aftershocks of a very satisfying high. He grins and taps a playful finger against the tip of Gordon’s nose. “It’s really too bad I have to get rid of you, James. You’re so very entertaining. I’m sure Tabitha would just love to get her hands on you.”

Gordon’s mouth drops open to bite out a scathing reply, no doubt, but his words choke off into a strangled moan as Gordon screws his eyes shut and throws his head back to thud against the wet concrete. 

A low set of grunts that taper off into a string of muttered obscenities slips into the quiet damp around them and flutters off to the high, shadow-clad ceiling.

Gordon’s body begins to jolt with a harsh, grueling rhythm, the sound of heavy breathing rising in time with it. Hurt draws Gordon’s features tight, paints a mess of feather-edged shadows across his face and he’s making those wounded little noises in the back of his throat again, like he just can’t help it, the ones that have heat pooling low in Theo’s stomach and make him wish he were young enough to rise to the occasion again.

It’s a sweet rush in his veins, the way Gordon chokes on every thrust, the way his hands clench into white-knuckled fists and strain against Theo’s hold. How Gordon presses the one side of his blotchy red face against his arm as though trying and failing to hide himself away, the dark fabric a lovely contrast. Theo reaches out a hand and draws the tips of his fingers along the lines of Gordon’s features, ghosts them over the silky skin of his fluttering eyelids, across the feverish jut of his cheekbone and along the soft corner of his mouth, where full lips have fallen apart to suck in wet gulps of air.

“Come on now, you can do better than that. Put a little oomph into it, mate.” Theo challenges without looking up and the cop chokes out a laugh at his words and then goes for it.

On the next thrust, Gordon yells.

“That’s more like it!” Theo breathes, feeling lightheaded with the thrill that rushes through his veins. He does his best to commit it all to memory, every sight, sound, taste and scent. The cool air in his lungs is a harsh contrast to the heat swelling underneath his skin.

Gordon’s voice echoes in the wide space of the warehouse, washes itself out as it weakens on the end note, breaking ever so slightly. Theo slides the hand on Gordon’s heaving chest up to his throat, apllies just enough pressure to feel the vibrations of Gordon’s vocal cords beneath the fragile stretch of skin and straining muscles.

The sorry excuse for a police officer across from Theo moans out a low litany of filth and shudders to completion. Gordon flinches violently and goes painfully tense beneath Theo’s touch, hissing in a breath through his teeth as the dirty cop pulls away.

“God, I wish I had more time for you.” Theo breathes softly and brushes a thumb through the dampness that has matted the elegant arch of Gordon’s lashes to his brightly flushed cheeks. Gordon cringes away from Theo’s touch and goes stiff beneath him, struggling just to breathe. 

Reluctantly, Theo lets go of Gordon and heaves himself to his feet.

“I’m afraid that’s it, gentlemen, I really should be going.” He sighs but halts in the midst of taking a step when something snags his ankle. Looking down Theo finds Gordon’s fingers tangled into the hem of his trousers. 

“You’re going to die behind bars, you’ll pay for everything you’ve done. I’ll make sure of that if it’s the last thing I do.” Gordon grinds out, voice so hoarse it sounds painful and Theo can hardly believe it, when he catches that same rebellious fire as before burning in the breathtaking blue of Gordon’s eyes. After everything he has done to this man... Theo has never met anyone so inexorably relentless, down to the marrow of his bones, the core of his very being. Now, in the harsh glare of the overhead lights, with Jim Gordon bare, beaten and filthy on the cold ground, it seems like nothing but madness. 

Something faint and cold slithers into Theo’s chest and settles there, something like foreboding, like the first faint echos of thunder that precede the rising storm. He shudders for a moment, caught off guard by it but soon enough irritation rises up to disabuse him of the childish disquiet. “Kill him.” Theo spits at the waiting cops without taking his eyes off of Gordon’s. “Don’t make it quick.”

With that Theo shakes off the detective’s grip and strides away into the chill of the open waterfront in its nightly mantle of darkness, followed by the satisfying, low thuds of something hard and unyielding connecting forcefully with soft flesh.

Gotham has been suffering for much too long, drowning in its own filth, crime and corruption, in the rivers of blood that flow thick through these streets. But now Theo is here to fulfill his forefather’s legacy, to rise up and become the savior that Gotham has been yearning for. To cleanse it down to its blackened core and rebuild it into what it was once meant to be. Theo will break down the darkness of this despairing place, this city without hope, and drag it back into the light, whether it wants him to or not.


End file.
